Newark

Newark
There is a strange opening, 
A knowing that is sad and gaping,
And beautiful in its realness,
A pulsating city made up of people and principles
heavy drum beat of inconsolable loss and 
indestructible power

Newark
The place where I learned that
Ella , Malcolm, Assita,
Wells, King and Douglass
taught me the things that I always thought I knew
but never understood
that love is the core
But "love without power is sentimental and anemic."
And "power without love is reckless and abusive"

Newark
Where righteousness is a place
and humility is the path
Where revolution is fed at the dinner table
In the lateral feeding of hope and love
From one hungry mouth to another
From those who understand that
“the appetite grows for what it feeds on”

Newark
The place where I met
"The Fire of Love And The Sweat of Truth"
In 90 degree weather
Sitting on the pavement of the onramp of Route 21
Where students, wide awake
“[Began] to examine the society in which he is being educated”
And rip from the blackboard and lips and minds
Lies made to suffocate and murder
Who found themselves, and me, too

Newark
A city built brick by brick
Understanding that
“If there is no struggle, there is no progress”
And “stumbling is not falling”
The revolution never left this place
The vibration caused not from bulldozers or the building of corporate offices
But the power of the people who never forgot
“Give light and people will find the way.”